


Not Very Punk

by theyshotmyclown



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First War, Marauders, Sirius Black & James Potter Friendship, rskink fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:00:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theyshotmyclown/pseuds/theyshotmyclown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sharing clothes with James is not the same as sharing clothes with Remus; he knows it and James knows it, and now he’d quite like to get them both blindingly drunk so they can conveniently forget it. (implied R/S, First War)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Very Punk

James is staring at him in a way that suggests he might’ve grown an unsightly appendage somewhere around his midsection. Sirius frowns. “What’s wrong with your face mate?” He glances down in case something has gone horribly wrong between the bedroom and the corridor; nope, everything present and correct. He slides a slightly crushed box of Richmonds out of his back pocket and then pulls the flat door shut behind him, slinging his leather jacket over his shoulder. James has put his face right, but one eyebrow remains quirked.

  
“Nothing.”

  
Sirius jams a cigarette between his teeth and smirks. “Right then.” He lopes off down the corridor towards the lift – Sirius has been in the flat for two months and the novelty of using the lift still hasn’t worn off for James, and if he was being entirely honest Sirius enjoys it more than he should too – and waits for James to catch up. The words of Remus’ last letter (‘ _and you’re not to sit in the flat rotting in the same pair of jeans for the month, because not only will you go mental, but you’ll also be exiled from the bedroom on my return until you’ve showered’_ ) run on repeat at the back of his head. A night out will be good, he tells himself. A night out getting drunk with James, drunk like they’re sixteen and avoiding the suspicions of Mrs Potter, will be good for him.

  
In the lobby, he catches James glancing at his torso every so often when he thinks he’s not looking. This time his expression is less confused and more sort of smug. Sirius ignores it. “I was thinking we could hit Camden, if you’re up for it.” He waits until they’re standing outside before lighting up (something Remus insists he does) and then digs his hands into his pockets. They start off down the road.

  
James nods. “Alright. I told Lily I’d be back at around twelve, so you’re not allowed to let me get trashed.”

  
“Last time you said that I had to apparate us back to your place because you couldn’t stand up.”

  
“And that, Pads, is why we never accept when invited to partake in a drinking game with a group of punks.”

  
Sirius snorts, breath clouding in front of him. “They can spot one of their own a mile off. Your sobriety was collateral damage.”

  
“They wouldn’t spot you in that.” James dips his chin towards Sirius’ chest. “Not very _punk_.”

  
Sirius is about to call him out on his new found obsession with his torso and defend his fashion sense when he glances down and hauls his argument back into his mouth. _Ah_. He'd forgotten about that.

  
James is looking at him funny. Like he’s pleased with himself. “S’not yours, is it?” It’s said like a question, but the Look says James already knows the answer.

  
Sirius pulls absent-mindedly at the porridge-coloured jumper he’s been wearing all day. He sniffs. “It’s hard when you can only afford one chest of drawers between you! Mistakes happen.” He tries to look indignant, which is difficult when one has been found wearing Moony’s jumper in public. He’s beginning to think rotting in the flat would’ve been a better option.

  
James makes a noise that sounds midway between a laugh and a hoot of triumph. “Pete owes me five galleons. So how long has this been a thing, then?”

  
“What?” Sirius becomes very interested in the passing flagstones.

  
“Y’know, you and Remus?”

  
“We share a flat, James, that doesn’t mean we’re shagging wildly every time the door’s shut.”

  
They cross the road and James smirks, narrowly dodging a Toyota. “No, not while he’s off on Order business, I suppose.” Sirius glares at him over his turned-up collar. “Okay, sorry. But y’know, you could’ve said something.”

  
Sirius measures out his pace a bit, so he isn’t stomping like a petulant teenager who’s been found sneaking a spliff behind the herbology greenhouses. “It’s only a sodding jumper,” he says, “I used to borrow your clothes all the time.”

  
“Only because you’d usually wrecked your own beforehand.”

  
Sirius scowls as they head up the street towards their usual haunts. Sharing clothes with James is not the same as sharing clothes with Remus; he knows it and James knows it, and now he’d quite like to get them both blindingly drunk so they can conveniently forget it.

  
“Besides, nobody in their right mind would wear Remus’ jumpers unless they were getting at least the odd blowjob out of it, not with his habit of chewing the cuffs down to oblivion.” James mutters, and then ducks into their first stop before Sirius has a chance to properly process the remark.

**

Later, when he’s mumbling apologies to Lily at half one and propping James against the door frame – all good intentions disappeared with the first shots paid for by someone other than themselves – Sirius allows himself his own moment of smugness. Evidently, chewed up sleeves on porridge coloured jumpers are more punk than James gave them credit for.


End file.
